


Drawing closer

by Efervescent



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, Naruto
Genre: Gen, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 06:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19101865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Efervescent/pseuds/Efervescent
Summary: Reborn wants to find the person to whom he is linked. He goes looking, putting his broad collection of skills and resources to good use. He comes back empty handed, because that's how the universe works. Don't worry, it's meant to "build character".Reborn now has bigger problems than his lacking love life.  Naturally, it means the destined love of his life chooses this very moment to come out of the woodwork. This immediately solves all his problems and they live happily ever after. Nothing could possibly go wrong anymore...Nothing about life is supposed to be easy or convenient. Reborn already knows this and would be much obliged if the universe stopped aggressively reinforcing the idea.





	1. Fishing for a name

 

  The name is a source of both comfort and sorrow over the years. Names are lucky, because names are easy: out of endless alternatives, Renato has a pretty straightforward path- he’s not stuck thinking if he’s going to wait forever for something so easily missed, so unlikely as being able to breathe underwater after they kiss. The idea of predestination is one that has both enamoured and depressed humanity since its inception. What does it mean for the idea of free will? If all marks have a match, that means that there was really no alternate possibility of a person’s appearance and personality that science dictates should exist? It would be a lot easier if ‘soulmate’ was more of a misnomer. Because it was pretty obvious the connections weren’t random. It wasn’t always a love story for the ages, but even those who ended up despising each other admitted that there had been something of themselves in the other, if something they didn’t want to be confronted with.

Renato’s parents had celebrated the appearance of the name with him: the marks were obviously foreign, but they were reasonably well to do and lived in an era of progress-if his mate was foreign, that only meant he would have to travel east sometime in his youth to find them. The local translator couldn’t understand the characters, but she was reasonably sure they were Japanese. And that was that. Life went on as before.

 

 

Except for when it didn’t. Because sometimes it stopped abruptly, or changed so suddenly and so completely it made you question if it could even qualify as the same life. The mark is still there, as always, an invisible source of comfort branded on his upper forearm, hidden under the long sleeves of his shirt and a lovely black suit- thankfully, in a position that is easily covered and allows him to indulge in his preference for fashion (And isn’t that something, that now he has to worry about some shadowy figure finding his mate before he’s even had the chance to start looking?). Of course, since his life has to be turned upside down completely, the next time he checks there’s nothing there. It’s like being drenched in freezing water: his breath stutters, the shock won’t even let him take account of the situation properly. He presses his fingers into pale unmarked flesh, where just this morning the darkest ink still spelled out an unreadable name, and something comes back. When he stretches the skin, a pale grey is still discernible on its bloodless surface. The name is still there, just so faded it’s almost gone. It takes a nerve-wracking five minutes of staring and clasping his own arm in a firm grip for it to come back. He feels like he can finally breathe fully again and his fingers are twitching with the restored blood flow. It’s the first time anything like this has happened, except, as he thinks it, he realises he can’t know for sure. It hadn’t hurt, or gone numb or cold or anything. He spends maybe a couple of minutes looking at it every day, but for all he knows it has been disappearing for months. And, like most things in his life, there is nothing at all he can do about it.

 

 

Years later, when he has become Reborn, he wonders at the sort of person his mark represents. Because he feels there is nothing left of Renato in Reborn, yet the one who completes either has remained the same. It’s that line of thought that gets him in gear. He has lost everything once, but in return he has had the space and the circumstances to become who he is now. The idea of a soulmate has always been nice, but now it has become tantalising. He has made sure he is no longer helpless (except some things cannot be taken. Like his sister’s respect or affection-but neither are they necessary to live. He’ll live long enough to get over it). Instead, he plans. What does he need to find his soulmate (who might not know it, but is nonetheless bound to Reborn. For better or for worse). What he needs to ensure he can keep them. What sort of circumstances would mould a person that compliments him-what it would take to escape them and how far he is willing to go. Reborn lives on deception but there is limited use in lying to himself, so he rarely does it: some of the answers will take some time to swallow.

 

The combination of personal power, money and a lack of scruples is astonishing in how far it reaches. It takes a few months to make sure he has everything in place-the excuses and rumours that will be released once his likely prolonged absence gets noticed, the necessary paperwork to make crossing borders as a variety of alternate identities easy, contacts in place to get similar paperwork for someone else in short order (this whole not knowing thing was rather inconvenient. He would have been able to cover so much more ground if he had access to details like age, gender, ethnicity and identifying features, but he can work with what he has). There’s safehouses and medical equipment (should it prove necessary), and as he lies back in his plane seat he cautiously lets the feeling of a new beginning bloom. He still hasn’t been able to find a translation for his name, even once he learnt Japanese himself, opening his avenues of research considerably, but he’s well aware that there’s all sorts of pockets throughout the country that stick to a dialect and he’s ready to do the legwork. The name still disappears, but it’s not sporadic: never for longer than an hour, and the sessions are almost never one right after the other. Because of the sheer breadth of possibilities, it’s hard to find conclusive research, but changes like this are meant to signify an altered state-he can’t feel it, which is a very good sign (but never a definitive one, no). The way it had repeated in short bursts at the beginning brought to mind the repetitive nature of practice, so he’s come to hope for meditation: it’s a sufficiently altered mental state to provoke such an effect as well as likely to be repeated often. He could learn to enjoy the free time to himself if it turned out that was the case. It would be somewhat different if it turned out that his soulmate spent hours every week deep in prayer (since that sort of devotion was either associated with priests or people who would insist on converting whomever they came across), but he’s going into this with an open mind. He ignores the thought both options are still on the very positive end of the spectrum.

 

It doesn’t amount to anything. A handwriting expert tells him the writer is likely male, but the name remains unreadable, no matter the specialties of the people he goes to visit. The closest he comes is someone saying the way it’s traced is reminiscent of older calligraphy- the history professor he gets as a reference comments that the formation of the characters could be the result of an alternate course of evolution of the Japanese language, with the split originating maybe 500 years ago-but the sample is much too small for this to be any more than a stray theory. It points to a cult or secret society, which is pretty bad news for his ability to find him. But he tries. For months, he researches and threatens and hunts down all sorts of sects, but he’s not getting anywhere. It burns to have to admit defeat, like there’s battery acid dripping slowly down his throat as he swallows his bitterness.

 

 

He's not giving up on MrMr-y(1). But pursuing this avenue is clearly a waste of time. They’re almost guaranteed to meet at some point- it’s another scientific head-scratcher, but marked pairs meet even when their circumstances make it highly unlikely. He just has to keep his eyes open and not let him slip away when they do finally come face to face. In the meanwhile, there’s work to be done. And if he takes out his disappointment by throwing dozens of lives into chaos-well. If anyone disapproved of it that much, they were welcome to try and stop him.

 

 

He thinks about him more often as the years go by. The distance he has to keep from people only grows as he builds the legend of the World’s Best Hitman- there’s plenty of smoke and mirrors and very real human connection. Whenever he pulls off one of his more hare-brained schemes, he jots down the details, to remember for future retellings. And maybe sometimes he imagines conversations with the shadowy figure of Mr. Mr.-y , but there are very limited entertainment options when he’s waiting to snipe a target. He’s not as different from the rest of the world as his competition perceive him to be- he does the same thing most people who haven’t met the one at the end of their connections do : collect knick-knacks he hopes will delight with their beauty or amuse with their counterintuitive design, plan to go places together, daydream. He just manages to combine the romanticising with a good deal of murder, showmanship and endless preparations-because things will go wrong and he can’t afford not to be in control. He also has more disposable revenue than most people, as well as a decent amount of free time. So if he wants to splurge- buy a hotel, because it really would be wonderful to return here with someone on his arm- he can. It’s a good time for business, especially since he’s been planning on going dark again- the chaos and tumult it had launched the first time is only inciting him to repeat the experience. And, if the paperwork is finalized sooner than expected, it wouldn’t hurt to go looking again, just in case.

A good deal of the chaos and misery that abounds in the world is caused by unfortunate coincidences. It’ll rain the first time you’re out wearing your beautiful suede boots or the rent goes up just when you’re fired. Reborn, for all that he enjoys spectating when it happens to others, is not a fan. Life throws him another curveball, and he gets no chance but to play because the second he thinks about booking a flight to Japan, having spent almost two months in the south of France at this point, he catches fire. There’s something wrenching in him and it’s wrecking his suit: the sleeve is already ashes and the rest of the outfit can probably be written off at this point. His arm is literally on fire, the people around him are starting to freak out (and honestly, so is he), so he breaks into a run, goes around the building and jumps straight into the hotel pool. It works: the fire goes out, even if he still feels out of sorts, like something is pulling at his insides. He resurfaces, but as soon as his forearm is out of the water, his arm bursts into flames again. He dunks it back in and takes a moment to judge the situation. The fire, accompanied by the pull inside him… Something is pulling on his Flames. Except he’s not manifesting his will, so it’s only drawing out energy, which comes out as fire. His mark is missing, but the location of the fire is conspicuously the same as the name would usually take.

It only gets a little bit better from there. The fire isn’t going anywhere, but a twist of sun flames hidden under the convenient cover of actual flames keeps his skin safe. His leave of absence from the international mafia scene is prolonged indefinitely, while he has to go around wearing fireproof t-shirts and trying to find an explanation. He does find precedent, once he gets his hands on some flame studies. The pull on his flames is… bad. It generally means that his soulmate desperately needs something so his body is pulling on every available resource. Except because Reborn isn’t actually with him, there is no actual benefit Mr.Mr-y can draw from it. It could be that he’s a newly-awakened sky, desperately in need of guardians, or that he’s just lost his Sun, or worse, it could be that he’s so sick his body is attempting to draw on the Sun flames it has some distant connection to. He’d never looked into medicine seriously: he doesn’t have the inclination or the curiosity, but it looks like that choice may have gone right out the window. He’d never seriously considered it before- if an illness was serious enough to cause the disappearance of the name, it surely wouldn’t have been survivable for the many years it has been ongoing. Except for how the human body varied between dying from a bruise and surviving almost complete destruction, and damnit, he was going to have to call up Shamal for some lessons, wasn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Are you trying to tell me the owner of Leon the ChameLeon wouldn’t call his unknown male soulmate MisterMystery?


	2. The great beyond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan dies. The afterlife has been seriously misrepresented.

 

 

   Death is not unexpected, but he cannot deny the sharp disappointment that taints his supposedly eternal peace. From the hundred of depressed, lonely and nearly-psychotic ninja that occupied the battlefield, he’s the one that dies. Dan is well aware of just how few people are willing to try to build rather than just destroy to prompt change and it burns that he never got to leave the impact he knows his policies would have created. He will never get to be Hokage, never get to fully atone for his sister’s unnecessary death. It’s almost ironic: for everything that the war has taken from him, it has given back more. He’s lost friends and family, but gained enduring comradery with people that were previously strangers; he’s lost his peace of mind, but gained both incentive and inspiration for jutsu development, leading to his signature technique: something quite unlike anything else already around, that allows him to become ghostly, immaterial- what could one day become an unstoppable force. He lost his sister, but gained an opportunity to prove himself, talent breaking through the established social strata of Konoha, as well as the chance to live an unlikely love story with the wonder that was Senju Tsunade. Except now, he’ll lose everything. He died under the hand of the greatest medic to ever live, which shows just how far from the gods shinobi took themselves for they really were. He never got to marry her. He’ll never get to do a lot of things.

 

 

It takes a while to realise that his internal monologue is not the only thing around worth paying attention to. The promised Pure Land, filled with his deceased loved ones and governed by the comfort peace and absolution from mortal pains and responsibilities are supposed to bring, is either pure fiction or perhaps seriously wanting. Dan is what some have described as ‘jovial’, generally, but the death of all his hopes and dreams is seriously galling and promises to remain so for a good while without even the balm of finally seeing his family again (Shizune, his little niece, is all that remains of the Kato family. Maybe Tsunade will step up to care for her, but either way there is nothing he can do about it now).

There’s plant life all around him, but nothing that looks familiar. The sky is perfectly clear and a brighter shade of blue than what he remembers. He waits around for a little while, but there’s no celestial being coming for him. It gets boring quickly and he is in no mood to languish on his thoughts, so he starts looking around. There’s flowers and bushes everywhere, but non-corporeality means that making his way through the greenery is easy enough. Time passes almost without his notice. He feels removed from the world around him as well as from himself-stuck in an in-between where nothing happens and nothing matters. Night falls and water spouts from the earth, graceful arcs distributing it regularly. He can’t muster the curiosity to investigate. The little poles spread around turn out to be lanterns as they light up. Noise starts making itself known, an insistent hum in the distance that slowly grows in magnitude.

He can hear giggling slowly coming closer, leaves rustling as he prickles with anticipation. A young woman comes into view, twisting her body to make her way between two particularly voluminous bushes, glancing over her shoulder as she smothers a laugh. Her features are entirely unfamiliar: her skin has the bronzed look of Southern Fire Country farmers, but her face looks quite unlike anyone he knows. She’s attractive in an exotic way and possibly one of the ghosts he’s going to be sharing the afterlife with for eternity, so he stifles the more intrusive questions that hover on the tip of his tongue. Except she’s not. She can’t see him, even as he waves his hand through her. He can’t feel her chakra, which is another point for the ghost theory, but she clearly affects her surroundings effortlessly. A young man makes his way into the little clearing and it becomes obvious what they’re here for, and it’s about as carnally human as it gets. He gets out of there before he catches an eyeful, heading in the direction they both came from. Apathy still weighs him down, but people mean potential danger. And he’s too good a shinobi to be able to ignore that.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

It takes him a while to accept that he’s apparently stuck in another world. There’s no chakra and things are just plain bizarre and different enough that it makes him wonder sometimes if maybe this is punishment for a life spent bringing pain and misery. But a more in-depth exploration reveals that while they don’t have chakra, there’s something particular about the connection between their souls and their bodies. He can only perceive it because of how his Spirit Transmission technique has sensitised him to the presence of souls on the physical plane. With shinobi, their souls had been… sort of superimposed over their bodies. Two planes of existence sandwiched onto one another, souls connected by the barest of threads to their corresponding body. It allowed techniques like his or the entire Yamanaka jutsu repertoire to exist, along with the possibility of reanimation. Here, their souls seemed to actually inhabit the bodies and the spiritual plane he’s used to is missing-nothing akin to a nature god could ever grow here. Mixing the spiritual and the corporeal seems like a risky strategy, but the inhabitants look well adjusted, so there is nothing more to do than push the worries about the relative stability of the system to the back of his head. He lacks the information and the ability to act on his suspicions and is not inclined to waste his time and wreck his mood by going to work even after death. This higher spiritual density is also his best bet as to why he ended up here, of all places: he must have transitioned into Spirit state right as he died and got stuck in a more densely woven reality in transit to the pure world.

He knows there’s no going back. He’s effectively got a new lease on life and he intends to make the most of it. Grief is much easier to push aside when nothing reminds you of home. And this world has A LOT of entertainment.

 

 

He’s still recovering chakra-albeit at a snail’s pace, as it always goes in Spirit form. But it’s a sign that he could one day materialise his body again. He’s in no hurry, anyway- he doesn’t speak the language (which is different enough it’s shaping up to be to be hellishly difficult to learn) and he lacks the resources to look after a corporeal body: no home, no food, money, job or paperwork to get one. Bare necessities like sleep and food could be very problematic but are a non-issue as a ghost. Hell, he has yet to see the insides of the locals: for all he knows, this atmosphere or gravity or bacterial flora could do him in even faster. It’s easier to just wander around, since there’s always plenty to see.

Another side effect of the closely-located souls are the bonds. He’d been surprised to see the way people stuck together here: deep connections clear to see, extreme attachment almost expected with how often it could be observed in pairs. Because here souls resonated intensely enough to affect the material world, so they could actually track the one who made the innermost parts of them sing with the joy of reunion.

And it varied! He’d seen literal sparks fly at a touch, fireworks when they kissed (and hadn’t that surprised the tweens playing one of the many circle games that were so inexplicably popular with the locals) as well as the more traditional red strings of fate. It made the picture of romance very different from home, though the lack of war hanging over everyone’s heads also contributed a whole bunch. It also made for easy but highly entertaining movie plots, giving rise to his new enjoyment of the fruits of the cinematic industry. It helps that technology is so much more advanced here: the pictures were sharp and focused, the colours bright and the sound work immersive. He can get a lot out of a film even without understanding a word. The one he planned on seeing today had a poster of an unrealistically anguished woman covered in flames, so his hopes are up for some good old-fashioned physical comedy.


	3. Tomorrow would be glorious, if only it would come

 

Reborn

 

He takes a special kind of pleasure in bad movies. It’s always a good laugh to reference them when crafting some of his most outrageous characters, making it almost baffling how people still believe him (sometimes he’s not sure if he’s that skilled or if they’re just that stupid). A surprising number of Bollywood stunts are doable in real life with a little assistance from flames, and serve him well when his appetite for showmanship stirs. So it’s perfectly in character for him to be watching the premiere of ‘Secret fiery passions 3’ in a cinema- sitting in crowded dark spaces is just begging to be ambushed, but he can handle it. It’s still a risk, which is why he’s deeply irritated when someone threatens his undisturbed enjoyment of the movie.

Some asshole at the back of the theatre keeps talking in a foreign language without a care for the public that shares the room. No one does anything about him and after a couple of minutes it becomes obvious he’s not going to abate, so he takes things into his own hands. He turns back and hisses to be quiet at the man, holding his gaze just to make sure his intended recipient gets the full weight of his annoyance. Their eyes meet and the stranger lets out a strangled scream, prompting Reborn, already at the end of his patience, to draw his gun and shoot him right between the eyes in a lightning-fast motion. He has a silencer and the room is dark- he’s a professional and his skills ensure that no one notices anything untoward. But more worrying is the fact that the man seems entirely unharmed. And also weirdly fluorescent in the darkness of the movie theatre. Is he…floating? Reborn starts walking towards him (he always gets corridor seats, wouldn’t do to impede his exit ways unnecessarily), but the guy flees, going straight through the wall like it’s not even there. Reborn only spares a second to check that the wall wasn’t actually only a mist illusion (it was all cement and no flames) before giving chase.

 

The ghost… if he can call it that – episode sticks with him. The sheer shock value of seeing something so unexpected-especially in a context as homely, as ordinary as going out incognito to see the new release of Secret fiery passions. There’s a lot of weird things out there-between flames, bonds, mad scientists and what scientists are postulating is proof of past alien activity on the planet; there’s no end to them if you have the curiosity to go looking. Ghosts are…rumours. There’s something lingering around the Vongola, if you know how to listen. But it’s certainly not an almost cartoonish, white, floating figure. That’s less ‘things that go bump in the night’ and more Disney movie. It’s curious how no one else in the theatre could see him. He’d blame it on being Flame active, except the man seemed surprised to be noticed at all. Flame actives weren’t exactly thick on the ground, but they weren’t so rare that you could wander around a big city without encountering at least a handful. And the glowstick effect would definitely draw a fair number of doubletakes. Reborn had chased him, running out of the cinema (he couldn’t exactly follow through the wall), but he’d been gone before he could catch another glimpse of him. And now he was even missing the juicy action of Maria reconciling with Fernando. He casts a commiserating smile at his forearm, but it freezes on his lips. Over the last few weeks, the fire had settled at a steady flicker and the name had gone dark enough to be visible if he squinted at it. Now there was barely a spark left and his mark was pronounced, not much darker than usual but somehow more distinct. It hits him like a bullet to the head: the thing that’s different. The guy he said he’d never allow to get away, chased away by his own hand.

It's a vicious irony, but now he knows exactly what he’s looking for. He takes a moment to fix his features in his mind, his own Mr. Mr-y (and isn’t it a rush, to know that this might be the last time he calls him that, that soon enough he’ll know what the damn characters mean and what sounds go with it). It’s going to be hard to track him, when there’s no witnesses and probably no video footage, but he won’t deny it’s a rush. To know that he doesn’t have to share, that he’s the only one who can see and hear him. It must be a terribly lonely life, but Reborn already knows he’s a deeply possessive on top of being a selfish bastard.

 

 

It starts out exciting: the rush of a hunt, feeling himself get closer with every passing moment, making real progress. Except MrMr-y keeps evading him, and to put the cherry on top of the infuriating cake, it seems he’s not even doing it on purpose. Until he disappears entirely. After a few more weeks of searches that only serve to make him more bitter by the day through being entirely fruitless, he arrives at the logical conclusion. MrMr-y must have moved on. The chances of a Japanese man dying in a little town in the south of France are small, but the unavailable translation hints at a different time period altogether, which cuts those chances down exponentially. It makes sense for someone living it up as a ghost to travel around-life (well, the after-life) would get awfully boring if one were stuck in one place, especially when most distractions were inaccessible for intangibility reasons. And if he hadn’t figured out their bond, he wouldn’t have any reason to stick around. The chances of Reborn tracking him down again within his current search radius are minimal. And ghosts don’t exactly leave tracks, so he can’t follow.

 

The problem is how ghosts are viewed as firmly ensconced within the realm of fiction, which is at least a little ridiculous given the stuff the mafia gets up to. There’s little real-life knowledge-no studies on what they would find worth pursuing or desirable (since admittedly a non-corporeal existence would be very far removed from his own. He’s not conceited enough to believe he could anticipate the wishes of someone with such a vastly different life experience and perception of the world). He doesn’t have the technology to track whatever emissions made the guy visible-it has to be something in the light spectrum-hell, he might be able to find the wavelength by testing his own eyes. But he doesn’t have the ability to create a scanner to track that radiation by himself, and he doesn’t quite dare break this knowledge to the world. Someone, somewhere, would let something slip. And if ghosts became a known quantity, some bright egg would for sure figure some way to entrap and destroy them. He would be making bigger, irreparable problems for himself down the line just because of his current impatience. It doesn’t mean he’s not sorely tempted. It only takes one dream of living the rest of his life with an empty forearm to cure him of the worst of it, but he resents his powerlessness. Knowledge is power and Reborn would loathe to relinquish this one.

 

 

It doesn’t help his temper. He throws himself back into work, which provides him with convenient targets for the seething mass of feelings roiling in his chest. It isn’t nearly satisfying enough to calm him down. When Checker Face comes knocking, he opens his door. These missions he proposes would take him through more places than his own contracts-he will admit to sticking to a comfort zone as far as his choice of location for jobs is concerned (so maybe he delights in luxury-who doesn’t?). In addition, an unplottable safe house would allow him to run some of the lengthier experiments he’s imagined but never risked putting into practice. He also gets to expand his network considerably. He discovers the pleasures and trials of accomplices that are almost friends. In the meanwhile, he keeps an eye out. The thing about soulmates is that their lives are often enough tied. It’s unlikely the first time seeing his soulmate was also his last. Except this time, he knows what to expect. And no one will be going off anywhere.

Of course, once the going gets sweet, once their synergy has actually had the time to grow into itself, it all goes to shit. Life slaps Reborn down again-and the Arcobaleno curse makes sure he also stays there.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan

 

 

There’s only so much time you can dedicate to fun exclusively before you start getting antsy. But while he has been able to get back into a corporeal shape and not die instantly because of different environmental factors, he doesn’t want to take the risk of going around in a vulnerable fleshy format. He can’t tell if gravitational attraction is that much stronger here or if it’s just the fact that he’s grown disused to weighing anything at all that makes any movement sluggish and slow. A lot of the local weaponry seems like a bad idea to face in a fight where he doesn’t have a medic or a safe home base-and he knows perfectly well that the best weapons would not get exposed to the public, so he probably wouldn’t even know what to expect given the degree of technological sophistication prevalent here. And since he doesn’t even have a way to clearly communicate…

 

 

It’s past time he started learning the language. And he tries. But it’s so different and there’s no reference system or anything he can use to confirm his theories or clear up misunderstandings-he’s not too good at languages apparently and his struggles warrant so little progress it’s an exercise in frustration. The lack of human contact is starting to get to him too. Spirit state really takes the edge off emotions, since hormones and brain chemistry don’t get a chance to weigh in, but he’s still getting lonely. He needs to address the problem before it causes him to do something stupid. He still remembers the one incident in the cinema. He’s almost sorry he ran, but the shock maybe justifies his reaction. But while there hasn’t been anyone able to see him (and visibly react) since, there are probably more people out there who have the capacity to do the same. He’d tried looking for the guy, but the city he’s in is much more populous than Konoha. It’s good news for his hope of finding another anomaly but bad news for his ability to identify an individual.

 

Mind made up, he decides to start his search back at his spot. He likes returning to the garden he first woke up in, making it a comfortable and familiar sight. It belongs to a sort of inn, if a much bigger and fancier one than all that he’s stayed in. Once a week they have a pool party and he always comes: dancing in a crowd makes him feel like he’s part of it and the music is always interesting. Today, though, people are just kicking back and relaxing. Mellow music is playing in the background and the sun hasn’t quite set, but you can feel that evening is fast approaching. He flits through the crowd methodically, trying the occasional jump scare just in case someone is trying to conceal the fact that they’ve noticed him. No results, but while it’s not surprising still has to stifle some disappointment. It would have been nice to find someone so close to home. He drifts towards the entrance (he can go through walls, but a lifetime of convention means that he still chooses to find an opening where he can) and settles to sulk in the lobby. Maybe he can amuse himself by messing with the lights again. He puts his back to the light switch and casts a look out into the room (he doesn’t actually want anyone to get hurt and he’s doing this for the reactions anyway) when he notices the baby. It’s small, all chubby pale limbs and black hair, dressed in a miniature version of the black uniforms most men seem to wear to work. His dark eyes are looking straight at Dan and he’s making a grasping motion with his outstretched arm. He doesn’t know how to stop the hope slowly welling up in his chest as he tests it- and to his delight, the baby’s gaze follows him as he drifts across the room. Well, now…

 

It’s not quite what he envisioned but he can see this working out really well. He’ll be getting a little friend who he can accompany to lessons (since someone will be working to teach the kid the language from scratch and great, he feels like an idiot for not thinking of this before). He doesn’t have to confront prejudices about the supernatural or work around a strict and busy schedule. He won’t be inclined to find a way to exorcise or otherwise hurt him-hell, even if he tells someone of Dan’s existence, they’re going to assume he imagined the whole thing. The little guy doesn’t even seem scared as he approaches, which is definitely a good sign. He settles in next to him and starts talking. Exposure to the language would mean the baby would also have the chance to pick up Fire Nation standard, which can only help further their understanding of each other. It’s only the beginning, but the future is looking pretty bright right now.

 

 

 

* * *

 

Reborn

 

 

It's a cruel sort of irony. He’d returned to his hotel because he needs to lay low while he’s vulnerable. He’s just about hit rock bottom, he can barely move around let alone correctly articulate words, when he sees his soulmate again. He stares and tries to reach out, because what else can he do? But it works. Against all odds, he catches his attention and keeps it. The guy who may very well end up being the love of his life seems content to hang out with Reborn and babble away at him, smiling brightly and leaning in close. It’s an opportunity- MrMr-y probably doesn’t know what exactly is going on. Reborn just has to make sure that by the time he realises the truth of the matter he can’t even picture ever leaving. A tall challenge, but by no means an impossible one.

He’ll never have the future he’d imagined. Not in this weak little dumpling of a body, flames sucked out of him constantly along with his life expectancy. But it’s not all lost. Flames have opposites. What has been done could be reversed. He’ll struggle and fight until he conquers this tiny prison he’s trapped in, and then start looking into flame theory and identifying the areas of research that were lacking. And for once, it won’t just be him, broken, bleeding and vulnerable, against the world. Things might just work out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

       Epilogue

 

   As Dino gets better (as one is quickly bound to do under Reborn’s merciless tutelage), he starts noticing just how unreally good Reborn truly is. Because by now he knows enough of how difficult it is exercise the variety of skills Reborn has effortlessly demonstrated, but his mafia boss training will not allow him to place his tutor on an unreachable pedestal any longer-he’s just as human as the rest. Except sometimes he really doubts the truth of that statement. Weird things happen around him, unusual, unexplainable things. Reborn can tell where people are inside a building even without their flames activated, which just about verges on ESP. One time, when he’d tried pranking him, Reborn had floated away **in his sleep** -there wasn’t even a pretence of a propulsion mechanism. It’s in the way his hat always returns to him through ridiculous coincidences and a hundred other little details that don’t add up. He’s not blatant about it, but the World’s Strongest Hitman really is something else. Dino just wonders how many people look closely enough to realise just how alien that something is.


End file.
